


the world revolves around you

by chasemarty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Vampire AU, more tags to come, somewhat medieval au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23295175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasemarty/pseuds/chasemarty
Summary: You're a girl held back by the world; he's a lord in need of a servant with a darkness behind his eyes and a need hidden just beneath the surface. There is only pain ahead - unless.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 32
Kudos: 83





	1. the world beats - can you hear it?

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! this is just a pretty brief intro chapter. Im trying to get back into writing - any feedback is lovely!!
> 
> also sidenote - i dont want this to come off as critical of sex work/workers. The criticism is more so of the historical treatment of women - sex workers are amazing and are the backbone of our economy!! much love xx

The sky around you is thick with energy; a dark, palpable mass that swirls and sizzles with electricity. You lean lower, shifting your centre of gravity forward as you push your horse into a gallop. Anxiety rolls of Meadow in waves, and the harsh rain slams against you both, blurring any vision. 

You glance forward, attempting to discern anything in the darkness. The path through the forest, over hills and through valleys, was not meant to be this treacherous – even in this autumn, as unpredictable as she had been, mother nature had not been this unyielding. Yet here you were, urging your beloved mare on through the sheets and the sludge. 

The sky alights. The pound of thunder. Meadow slams to a halt – the change nearly sends you flying from her back. 

“Hey girl, hey!” You yell into the screaming wind. You twist a hand comfortingly through her locks. “Hey, hey, it’s okay!” 

You slip from the nervous mare’s back, aware of the rain drowning you both. You stop a moment to look her in her eyes, hold her face comfortingly until she calms, slightly.  
“We’ll walk from here, darling,” you murmur, holding the lead firmly in your hand. “It can’t be too far.” 

This massive storm seemed to come from nowhere; and with it, this oppressive darkness. The darkness settled in a half hour ago, much too early for a sunset. And the rain was unprecedented. When you left your old accommodation this morning, the sun had been high in the sky. 

The forest is dark here, and you take to quietly muttering to Meadow – more for yourself than for her. 

“We’re so close,” the words fall from your lips – a prayer. Pointlessly, you wipe water off your brow, trying to shift the drenched locks from your faces. You sigh then – you had laid your beautiful hair into subtle ringlets this morning to impress your new Lord, hoping that the presentation would be less enticing than it is professional. Now, your hair falls in place in long rivulets. 

It’s then, suddenly, when Meadow takes off – dragging your arm with you. You yell in surprise, dropping the lead to prevent the lose of limb and life. With an angry scream, you sprint after the galloping mare, calling after her by name. It’s futile, however, and as you run through the twisting path and lash out at slamming branches, you can feel the tears threaten to shed.

This is not the day you wanted. 

“Meadow!” 

This call is desperate, whining, devastated. It sounds like heartbreak and disappointment and all the pain that had coloured your last few months. The wind swallowed it whole, plucking it from the air before it could reach your target.

And then suddenly – 

You emerge from the forest – 

And Meadow is there –

And so is the largest castle you’ve ever seen. 

\--- 

The world does not favour the poor. Those are the words your mother would whisper to you as she pulled and pushed your hair into a pretty braid. And even less, poor women.

“But, mother -” you would begin. But your mother was many things – docile was not one. 

“No, you listen to me,” the words come out sharp and quick – venomous and dangerous and they set you directly on edge. “There are many realities that are difficult to grasp at your age. And, as your mother, it is my job to both prepare and shield you from them.”

She’s whispering this now, making eye contact with you in front of the dingy mirror in your living room. The light highlights her eyebags; the dark purple fashioning itself into quasi-bruises. The weight of living. 

“Girls like us only have a few places in this world – and you must quickly figure out where you sit. Most of us will go onto be servant girls, just like I was. We will clean and cook and be quiet. Mice that must not be seen or heard. This, I believe, is the ideal.

Some girls aren’t so lucky. Some girls, pretty but rebellious and perhaps unruly, don’t survive in the home. They can’t handle the duties, or the pressure, or the wandering eyes or hands of their masters. They become angry, jagged – cut themselves on their own edges. Girls like that don’t belong in the home. This is when the master, with a deal so undesirable and underhanded that not even the maids speak of it, sells her on. Sells her to the whorehouses.”

You’re watching your mother closely, entranced by the way these words fall from her lips like tumbling stones. She hates that they are inside her but hates them more for coming out. 

“Girls like that get broken.” A strangled gasp, a raised hand. “They are forced to sleep with men for a semblance of protection.” 

Your mum finally turns you around, tipping your head until the two of you are sharing a look so intense that you wish to shrink from it. 

“And finally,” her hand runs over your cheek lovingly. Her tone has dropped as she falls to her knees. “Some girls are captivating enough to be more than just passing fancies. Striking enough to overcome their class. Darling enough to want for more than just want night. Some girls become their master’s wives, tasked to bear children and their man’s emotion like a cross.

And they are the unluckiest girls of them all.” 

\---

You were only a child when your mother told you this story, barely past your first bleed. And yet, the words stuck to you, following you around like a hex. 

Maid. Whore. Wife. 

Those were your options. The path before you split into three. 

And yet, the forest called your name 

\---

Just weeks ago, your mother had succumbed to the autumn fever. A particularly rough plague had passed through the little village you called home, and with a shudder and no words of parting, your mother closed her eyes. 

A little ceremony was held in the rolling fields, attended by few. It was difficult to cry, to mourn. Your mother, while protective, was not loving. Her passing left you hollow less with grief than uncertainty. 

Your nineteenth year had just come to pass – and while it may have been slightly unorthodox, you had managed to avoid the call to service by assisting your mother in her Lord’s manor. The place was little, the Lord nondescript, and it allowed for a modicum of freedom. The money kept you both afloat and allowed for the little shack that you called home.  
But your mother was gone. And with it, her position. The Lord was not unkind, but he told you in no uncertain terms that the empty position was not yours. He had hired a slightly older girl, a woman without the slight feral quality behind your eyes that you tried to hide so well. Had you had it in you, you would have tried your luck at grovelling. But sometimes, even desperation can’t quell your fire. 

“I’ve heard whispers in the wind,” the cook told you, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “The Lord on the hill. He is looking for a maid. I’ll send word with the grocer if you’re interested.”  
It takes a second of thought before you’re nodding. “Please, send word. I can’t survive here forever.”

\--- 

And so, you stand in the pelting rain. You refuse to insult this castle with the moniker “manor”; even in the darkness, in the fading light, this place towers and overwhelms and excites. 

Reaching for Meadow’s lead, you approach the front door – an imposing, oak door with beautifully intricate designs laced into the framework. 

You lift your hand, ball your fingers into a fist.

And knock.


	2. a swallowed breath, a worried heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your new world is not bare of depravity. Natalia makes an appearance.

The sound of your fist against the wood is almost drowned by the pounding of your heart. Standing beneath the small alcove provides you with a semblance of protection from the rain, but it still slams down all around you. Plus, it doesn’t change the fact that you are drenched to the core, cold soaking into your bones until you can’t tell where you end, and the ice begins. 

A low, slow creek awakens you from your reverie – the behemoth door before you has slid upon, inch by inch. Light flutters out from inside, spilling onto your drenched form. You shield your eyes slightly, trying to make out the figure before you.

A woman – slight but fiery, stands, glancing over your form lightly. The look is not accusatory; simply curious and slightly amused. You mimic her action but subtlety – you aren’t sure who this is; it would be incredibly dishonourable to openly observe the Lady of the house. She is incredibly beautiful; there was an answer hidden behind her emerald orbs. 

You curtsy low, embarrassed as you feel your wet hair brush past your face. “Good evening - ”

The woman before you utters your name, low and sultry. You shoot up, nodding your head in admission and feeling your heart skip. The way your name falls from her lips is equal parts sultry and terrifying – it feels like she’s pulling you into a trap. “You’re the new maid, yes?” 

“Yes, my Lady,” you mumble hurriedly, bowing your head. “I’m dreadfully sorry for my disarray, I assure you this is not a norm that I shall uphold to - ”

The sound of laughter, soft and light and melodic, cuts you from your hurried apology. You glance up, eyes connecting with the softened expression of the woman before you. She’s swept the door open further and is ushering you inside with a sweep of her hand. You shuffle inside, dropping Meadow’s lead reluctantly. 

Glancing past you, the woman before you clicks her hand toward a servant boy who seems to be attending to the fire place. “Peter, boy, take the lady’s horse to the stable. Make sure she’s comfortable.” 

The lady before you has turned, and as the young servant boy passes, you reach for his arm lightly. “Her name is Meadow – she might be a little anxious, but she won’t hurt you.” 

Peter, with his wide, soft eyes and enamouring smile, nods and pushes past you. 

“Follow me,” the Lady utters, strutting past you. She’s dressed in a black slip dress; elegant and elongating and exquisite. You turn, catching her side-eyeing you. You curse beneath your breath, hoping that she didn’t take your moment with Peter to be anything more than a passing worry for your darling mare. “I was going to take you to do the rounds, but I figure you should probably change from your clothes first. No point soiling the rest of the house unless necessary.” 

You catch a hint of mirth on her tone, but you don’t dare smile as you follow her. It’s then when you finally glance up, taking a deep breath as you admire the expanse of architecture before you. 

Emerging from the entrance hallway into the main room was a religious experience – that awe-inspiring, overwhelming wave that you’d heard described in the walls of the Church over and over but never believed could exist. It stole the breath from your chest, and your hand shot up to cover the gasp that fell from your lips. 

The ceiling seemed to stretch forever, and the flickering candles on every surface provided a flittering, hazy glow that sunk into your soul, distracting you immediately from the wet and cold that you had just been exposed to. Before you, on either side of a roaring fire, two sets of staircases curled their way around, dressed with a royal red carpet that continued to beneath your feet. The balcony above stretched around all four corners of the room. 

And the art – the artwork. Between every set of doors on both stories, there was a different, gorgeous painting – all in various shades of red black and white. All animals of the night, owls and wolves and foxes, against a backdrop of striking forest and night sky. 

It was truly the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

The Lady before you had turned, watching your admiration with a measured smile. “Stunning place, isn’t it?” She hummed, ushering you into a door situated between a painting of a crow and deer. “Lord James has a keen eye, and an even better curator.” 

To this, she rewarded herself with a light chuckle, before realising that you didn’t quite understand. “I apologise – I take care of his artistic purchases.” 

Leading you through a hallway, and through a corresponding door, she opened you into a small but spacious room, fitted with its very own bed and closet. She slid the closet door open delicately and removed a white gown; simple and without a corset, yet still pinching at the waist slightly. “This is your expected attire. If you see issue with the fit, I’m sure you would be able to make amends yourself?”   
You nodded, receiving the garment from her. “Uh, my Lady,” you began, your voice rising slightly with embarrassment. “Would you mind turning around?” 

She laughed – it was edged with a darkness that shot a shiver through your spine. “I am not your Lady, darling girl,” she says lowly, voice a cropped whisper. She turns around, facing toward the door. “As you wish. Also, you may call me Lady Natalia. We don’t wish for anyone to get the wrong impression, hm?” 

You’re hurriedly slipping into the dress and feel a slight excitement that it fits perfectly. The words the Lady are uttering are confusing, twisted in a darkness that frightens you. “Of course, Lady Natalia. Pardon my asking, but are you not the Lady of the house?” 

She’s turned now, taking in your new attire. She pulls on your hand lightly, turning you until she stands behind you, breath whispering against your throat. Her hands tangle through your wet hair and she tugs, gently, pulling your head back slightly. It’s here where you realise how fast your heart is beating, how much of an unknown situation you are currently in. She’s leaning closer still, nose brushing against the base of your neck; goosebumps follow in their wake.

And then, a deep breath. 

She’s pulling back, hands shifting in your hair until she begins to pull your hair into a braid. “Oh, darling girl,” she begins, hands soft and sensual against your wet locks. “Lord James is my close friend – he has simply offered me a room during these trying times.” 

Her fingers catch on an unruly knot, and you gasp lightly. She laughs lightly again. “Besides, I find that I’m not particularly interested in his…” She ties the end of your hair with a ribbon, feeling her hand slide down your back lightly. “Kind.” 

Before you can utter a question to that confusing admission, she’s pulling away, opening the door with a sophisticated flair. 

“Come, my pet,” she says. “It is time for you to meet your master.”

The air is charged with your anxiety, as you follow her into your future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR BUCKY IS IN THIS STORY SOMEWHERE. Natasha kinda just took this and ran with it. It's probably because I'm gay. But I swear, this isn't gonna just be gay baiting, I'll have a pay off somewhere bc girls gotta love girls.


	3. the world is dark, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Lord Bucky appears, FINALLY.

Lady Natalia is, in a word, daunting. 

Even as she strides before you, long skirt billowing behind her, she has a presence that fills the entire room; a sense of self so tangible that you can’t help but be captivated in her. 

And her stare – the connection was intoxicating, otherworldly. When you stared into those emerald eyes you could feel yourself twisting, resigning, obeying. 

Sweeping up the staircase effortlessly, you struggled to keep up with her. The subtle click click click of her hidden heels echoed through the entrance room, and even the servants spread across the room had subtlety slowed to watch the Lady and the newcomer ascend. You could feel their eyes, curious and intrigued and interested. 

At the top of the stairs, the Lady ushers you forward through the central door. Situated at the apex of the two staircases, you assumed that this door would lead into a ballroom, a dining room, perhaps a place to lounge. Any kind of room meant to be shared.

Perhaps therefore, as you crossed the mantle into this unknown room, a sudden gasp caught in your throat. You thought, after the marvel you had already experienced, you would be prepared for any spectacle that would greet you. 

And yet – 

Despite how much smaller this room was to the one you had just entered from, the sight of it immediately made your heart skip a beat. 

On the far wall a door, to your left a delightful roaring fire; the remaining walls were lined, floor to ceiling with bookshelves. The oak seemed to bow under the weight of the hundreds and hundreds of tomes, books of every colour and you were sure every subject. The light in here was dimmer, romantic – as if illuminated by the sun at a dawn. 

In the centre sat a round desk, large but not overpowering. A few table chairs surrounded it, and several royal blue chaise lounges were scattered around the room; just inviting you to curl up upon them with a book, to let yourself slip away.

It wasn’t incredibly common for servant folk to know how to read – however, your mother had raised several Lord’s children, who were expected to learn such a skill. As such, in the early hours after her shift, your mother would bring home the teaching guides she had used with the other children, and the pair of you would sit by flickering candlelight.

Your mother was a demanding teacher. But you appreciated her for it.

Completely taken in by your reverie, you were unaware that you had crept toward the closest bookshelf, hands tenderly tracing down the spine of a large tome. 

Recoiling your hand as if you had been burned, you turned to see those emerald eyes surveying you, a glint of amusement, perhaps mirth, sat behind her expression.

“It’s okay, little pet,” she said lowly, voice so close despite her distance. “I’m sure your Lord won’t mind – but you might wish to ask first.” 

You nodded feebly, stepping away. You were incredibly embarrassed, and you began to berate yourself for such actions. How could you act so impulsively on your first day?

It was then that the door at the far end of the room swung open. 

And your breath –

Stopped.

\---

The childhood of a servant’s daughter is a lonely, solemn affair. With your mother away, tending to the Lord and Lady to keep a roof over your head, you learn to care for yourself very quickly.

The house that you shared with your mother was your own domestic affair – you learned from a very early age that it was your responsibility to clean and care and tend to the house and its many shortcomings. You had copped a number of cuffs around the ear for not sweeping up, or allowing the fire to burn down to the coals in the middle of winter. 

You developed a routine. Awaken early, clean and fidget and prepare, organise your own lunch and drop down to the markets to buy ingredients for dinner. Prepare and knead dough and allow it to rest, and then – when you were sure that you could do it, when there was nothing left that you could get in trouble for – you would sit outside, on the back step of the little house you called home, with a novel you had lifted from the local bookstore. 

You always returned them, and you were certain the shopkeep knew what you were doing, but it served as your own personal library of sorts. You were able to whisk away to these massive, personal worlds in which you weren’t destined to be a wife or a whore or a servant. But a world where you could be whoever – a princess, a hero, a writer. 

Each afternoon, when the sky began to bleed into oranges and yellows and gorgeous lilac, a curious thing would occur. At the same time every evening, black feathers glowing beneath the tapestry of sky, a dark raven would appear in the massive oak tree.

The bird would never approach you; would simply watch you until the light faded completely and you could no longer read, forcing you to retire inside. 

But you’d often watch him back, call out to him. He would never respond, didn’t even give you a caw, but his head would tilt in acknowledgement; like, I hear you.

He was there every day for years – even when you didn’t come out because of the howling rain or the blistering cold. You’d still look out the back door around twilight, and he was always there. Waiting. 

\--- 

The man who walked through the door reminded you instantly of your raven. 

Not in his looks, per se – he was tall, curling brown locks pulled back into a small bun at the base of his neck. His top was covered in a loose, silken shirt that was tucked into grey trousers. He was handsome, stunningly so.

It was his eyes. 

Dark and stormy; the most piercing, earth shattering sapphire you had ever seen. He catches your eye, and a shock runs through your core; there’s a tangible connection between you, and you can’t look away. It’s his eyes that remind you of your raven – the emotion hidden behind them is just so achingly familiar that it hurts. 

Lady Natalia clears her throat, a grin colouring her gesture. “James.”

“Natalia,” he admonishes, eyes still caught on your form. He’s stalked across the room until he’s standing before you, your body caged between him and the bookshelves. It takes everything in you to not shift back, try and mould yourself into the wall. 

“My Lord,” your voice is a breathy whisper, breath caught in your throat. You curtsy, trying desperately to break the spell of his eyes on you. “I am so grateful for this position.” 

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and you can’t help the electricity that rushes through your body. He’s intoxicating, his proximity and the intensity behind his eyes – and even though it is improper to be making eye contact with your master, you can’t help it; you’re hopeless beneath his gaze. 

Natalia, bemused by the action occurring before her, has perched herself upon the desk in the centre of the room, tapping her foot softly against the carpeted ground. “James, darling,” she calls. “Try being polite, would you?” 

James immediately steps back, and it’s this movement that shifts your focus to the glove that sits over his left hand. He catches the glance and turns away from you completely. The air around him has shifted, darkened in a way that is difficult to ascertain. “Welcome to my home,” he begins, dropping himself neatly into one of the blue chaises. “I’ve heard many good things of your work, and I hope that your standards continue in this household.

“Your tasks will not be unfamiliar to you; assisting with the cooking and cleaning. However, you will not answer to the head of my servants, you will answer to me.” 

Lady Natalia’s head tilts slightly; no flicker of emotion crosses her face, but you still notice the slight change. 

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Your duties will centre around my quarters. You will be my handmaid; only you are allowed to enter into this room, and my personal quarters,” he gestures briefly behind him. “Therefore, anything that needs to be tended to is your responsibility.”

You can feel your heart racing in your chest. It isn’t necessarily uncouth for a Lord to have a handmaid, but it isn’t how you were expecting your position here to go. “Yes, my Lord.”

James stood, walking back toward the door that he entered through. “Natalia, get one of the girls to show her to the servant’s chamber. When you awaken tomorrow, you are to come here immediately. Tomorrow, we will organise different sleeping arrangements.”

Natalia stands now, eyeing her cuticles with an uncaring aloofness. 

James’ hand is on the door handle when he stops, turning to catch your eye. He says your name softly. 

“I hope you enjoy your time here.”

And then, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciatedddddd


	4. my darling will you wait?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which James reveals that he has, perhaps, gone off script.

You awaken with a stumble; sun cascades through the open window and you immediately bolt upright, terrified of your surroundings and the lack of familiarity. And as suddenly as it rose, the wave of anxiety settles, noting the room around you is in fact, the one you had settled into the night before. A little room, sure, but luxurious – at least compared to your normal. 

You rise slowly, tentatively testing for the creak of the floorboards under your weight. The sound doesn’t come, and it fills you with delight. A girl like you must always be silent. 

The few belongings you had carried with you into your new life were drenched from the night before – last night, you had crawled into bed in just a slip. You considered that, perhaps this was improper, but with nothing left to wear it was truly your only resort. 

You considered what the day ahead might have in store for you as you opened the heavy closet door, reaching for one of the many, identical white dresses. You were happy to feel that this was just as well fitting as the last one; the tailor had obviously been particular about their craft.

You had never served as a handmaid; never been called to this duty. You considered the tasks that you may have to endure – you assumed it would be mostly cleaning. However, there was a thought – brief and uncomfortable – that flashes through your mind. Like a lightning strike that sets alight your nervous system, a thought caught in your throat. 

It wasn’t common practice for maids to be mistresses; not unheard of, of course, but word travelled quickly, and it brought shame onto a Lord’s lap. Often, the situation wasn’t enjoyed by the handmaid, but treated as a prerequisite for the job, part of their daily duties. You had never encountered a woman who had been encouraged into this, nor a man, but you heard the whispers down the grapevine. 

As they say: word travels on the wind. 

Is this what Lord James was expecting? A personalised whore, a useful outlet for his lust and frustration? 

You exited the room, feeling your heart begin to pound the more your brain swirled. Endlessly, the thoughts spiralled darker and darker until you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. It didn’t help that you had no idea where you are – endless hallways backed onto dead ends and doors that lead nowhere.

The floor felt like it was falling out from under you. 

“Hey!” 

Your head snapped toward the sound, a useful distraction from the emotional earthquake you had been experiencing. A boy, familiar but vague, was heading down the hallway towards you. His face was soft with youth, eyes wide with apprehension. He was in front of you now, as you stood in front of the room you had slept it. 

He raises his hand in a slight wave. “Peter,” he offers. “We met last night. Meadow is a gorgeous thing, not anxious at all. I have half a mind to think you’re trying to scare me off of her.” 

His words flow freely, a sunlit stream through an open valley. There is nothing in him that reads of hidden motives or tucked away secrets. His expression is open, and you feel yourself being pulled into the safety that he offers. 

You offer him your name in the slight pause between breaths. “Meadow is a wonderful girl,” you agree, a genuine smile. “Except when she bolted from me last night. Gave me quite the scare.”

Peter’s eyes, impossibly, open wider in panic. “Bolted! Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay. Next time, I’ll escort you down the forest myself. I know my way around, even in that dreadful storm we experienced last night. And to think that Lord James cou- ”

He stops suddenly, mouth closing. 

Just as quickly, it opens. 

“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry,” his words are rushed as he grabs you by the forearm. “I was actually meant to come collect you.” He leads you in the direction he came in from. “I just – I just get so easily distracted. Lord James says that it’s one of his issues with me. He says, ‘Peter, if you would simply listen to what I have to say, you wouldn’t have to go around fixing all the mistakes you make!” 

The boy is energetic, and it warms you. There’s an authenticity that seeps into your soul, settles in your ribcage and tells you that everything is going to be okay. 

He’s still talking as he leads you through door and hallway and door again. You imagine that it is not difficult to get lost in here, but the idea of having Peter around settles that aching thud in your chest. 

Peter is still hurriedly telling you about the advice that his master has given him over the years when you interrupt quietly. 

“What is Lord James like?”

Peter must hear it: the apprehension behind your tone. He turns to you with a smile. “He’s – honest. He’s a good man, beneath his exterior. I promise.”

Peter drops his hand from your arm, coming to a stop outside a door. At this point, you have been truly disoriented; whatever lies beyond is anyone’s guess. 

Peter gives you a light, friendly bow, and gestures toward the door. “He’s inside.”

And with that, he leaves you with your fate. 

\--- 

You edge the door open delicately, feeling the cold brass of the door handle beneath your skin turn. What awaits you leaves you confused. 

The room is eerily similar to the one you woke up in; a bed, a closet in the corner, a small table with a candlestick. The room was, however, larger. On the far wall, exactly in line with the one you had come through, was another door.

Most contrastingly, you didn’t wake up to a Lord sitting at the foot of your bed. 

As you entered, James rose. His presence filled the room, as if he somehow managed to cast a shadow over every inch of the room. His eyes, still raging with that eternal storm, fixed on you. They cast a spell; you were transfixed. 

He approached you, light on his feet and fast. Not enough to alarm, but enough to convey that this man was powerful, and he was only holding himself back for your benefit. 

He stands before you, hand on the door that has shut behind you. He leans, breathtakingly close. All you can hear is your heart pounding, the rush of blood. You didn’t understand; how a man could captivate you so entirely; how just one look could make you feel trapped.

His eyes searched yours for a moment, leaning so close and yet not quite touching. The chasm between you was electrified, the energy of potential settling under the surface of your skin. 

You can feel his breath on your cheeks, shallow and breathy and carnal – there’s a need rising in you that is unfamiliar and yet so ingrained into your bones that you know, that if he just touched you, you would know what to do. 

“Good morning,” he whispers. It’s a distraction, an invitation to either push or pull. He seems just as entranced by you as you are by him. “You seem – stressed.” 

It strikes you, suddenly, the thoughts you had been having this morning. Those concerns about what he wanted from you. This infatuation in the air, as breathtaking as it was, was dangerous for you. A scandal of this calibre would decimate your life, and barely graze his. 

You stand up taller, suddenly sober and cold. The change in your mood breaks the spell between you, and the change is tangible before you’ve even opened your mouth. The Lord has stepped back, and the rooms temperature has dropped perceptibly. 

“Good morning, my Lord,” you say, a distance in your tone. “I am fine, thank you for your concern. I assume I have tasks for the day?”

He’s running his hand over the modest bed frame as you speak, gloved hand clenching almost rhythmically. As if to quench an impulse. 

“These are your quarters,” he gestures loosely. “The door behind you must always be locked, for my safety.” 

He turns, his head, beckons you forward with the nod of his head. You follow him through the second door, which opens into his chambers. This room is delightful – like yours but double the size. The large bed sat beneath a gorgeous, arch shaped stained-glass window, casting the entire room in blues and purples and vivid red.  
The image was intricate – never in your days had you seen such beauty. The more you looked, the clearer the image became – a delicate stem branched from the bottom, before culminating at the top in a beautiful, delicate rose; dusty pink and loving. 

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Lord James agreed to your silent awe. “It was made by the glass smith from the Church just north, quite ironically I suppose.” 

His hand is running lightly down one of the panes. You follow the movement, nodding absently. 

“It truly is beautiful,” you say.

He clears his throat, turns. Walks back toward you. “This area is to be cleaned by you, and you only. Every room that branches from this room are your responsibility.” He begins to point. “That includes your quarters, the library that you’ve already been acquainted with, and the lavatory through there.” 

You nod obediently. 

“You shall also fetch things for me, if I so ask. My needs are your priority.” A breath catches in your throat. If he notices it, he ignores it. 

“I’ve also designated you to the stables. Peter is taking on a lot of work, and I’ve heard that that horse of yours may be a little stubborn.

“Finally, as I said yesterday, you answer to me.” 

You nod, letting the words drill through your brain. Breath in, breath out. “Of course, Lord James.”

“No,” he’s turned now, eyes boring into yours. “You call me ‘my Lord.’”

With that, he leaves you in the room, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! slight delay on this chapter, thank you for the patience :) 
> 
> Just a quick note to say - if you comment on my stuff, i will die for you :)) (not would, will. thats a threat :))) 
> 
> Also i guess as a preface, Im mostly using this fic as a way to get over my years long writing block. I actually kinda dont proof read, so i am sorry if theres mistakes. I feel as though if i start to proof read ill start to get a bit obsessive. Just want to finish this off and be done, you know?? 
> 
> Im obsessed with the idea of bucky just being ENTRANCED by the reader; like, impossibly drawn to her. v cute v swag i like it
> 
> Comments are loverly!!!


	5. a breath better held

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are dealt like currency.

You approach the stables, watching as your chestnut mare neighs in excitement. The pair of you have been connected at the hip for as long as you can remember, and she always had a sense of when you were near. She was standing in the field, and trotted up to the fence as you approached, Peter by your side.

“So, stables are here,” he said, somewhat sheepish at the statement. “We’ve only got a few horses and caring for them is pretty simple.” He pushed the stable door, opening it to reveal a pretty regular stable – five stalls line the wall to your left, and to your right a few bales of hay, a little closet. “Basically, we let them out at daybreak, scrub them down and feed ‘em. I let them out this morning already. Then, we bring them back just before nightfall. At lunch, I usually sneak down and throw them a bit of hay, just to keep them occupied. That’s pretty much all you’ve got to do, I suppose. I mean, I can feed them at lunch anyway, ‘cause I have to come down and muck their stalls anyway.” 

You’d grown used to Peter’s rambling on the walk down to the stables, but this comment made you pause. “What? Wouldn’t that be my job?”

Peter shrugs, rubbing his neck nervously. “Uh, Lord James’ orders. I wouldn’t complain if I were you.” There’s no reservation behind his tone, just that light playfulness that you’d come to expect from him. “I mean, don’t say anything to him, but it is kind of strange.” 

His tone had dropped, almost conspiratorially. The way he’s shifting on his feet, you can tell that this is an area he’s uncomfortable with – any hint of disobedience toward the man he was so fond of set his face into a deep frown. You can tell that, unless you act quickly and sensitively, he’ll drop the subject. But you want to dive in, know this man that you worked for, the man who set your nerves alight. 

“Yeah?” You drop lightly, dipping your toe so gently into the water that it hardly ripples. Eyes downcast, you pretend to survey the stall door before you, running your hand over the rough wooden façade. “What’s strange, Pete?” 

From the corner of your eye, you see his eyes sweep across the stables, as if afraid that the Lord was lurking in the curling corner shadows. He steps closer, unconsciously; narrowing the chasm into which his words must fall. “It’s just – I heard him talking to Lady Natalia, much before you came. He was saying he was looking for someone to replace the last kitchen hand – someone to help out the chef.” He pauses; you turn to watch the emotions flick across his face: a battle between keeping his mouth shut and pushing on.”

You hold your breath, not wanting to scare him. You hope your silence, your perceived indifference, will encourage him to go on. 

But, it doesn’t. The tension in the room dissipates as he chuckles, softly, his signature grin returning. “I haven’t even introduced you to the girls yet!” 

He clutches onto your forearm, as he had done that first night, and leads you to the other end of the stable, where two heavy barn doors had been opened. “So, in the morning just open each of the stall doors, and the girls will come out here. We’ve only got three girls, so Meadow makes a fourth.” 

You wonder, absently, if the speed at which he is talking is abnormal; of course, you knew he was a spitfire. However, it feels like these words are tinged with embarrassment as he avoids your eyes. 

He’s lead you into the paddock behind the stables, fenced in a large square. First, he points to a maple coloured horse with white socks, sitting beneath a large oak tree. “That’s Juliet – she’s actually Lady Natalia’s horse. She’s incredibly stubborn, so I find a treat usually helps.” 

Next, a gorgeous palomino, white hair just begging to be braided. She’s standing near Meadow, seemingly attempting to make acquaintances. “That’s Lacey – she’s technically Lord Steven’s horse, we just board her here. Oh! Of course, you haven’t met him yet. Regardless, Lace is a nice girl. Got a penchant for apples, that one does.”

Finally, your eyes fall on a midnight horse; so dark, that in the mid-morning light she almost gleams navy. She’s breathtaking, and the words fall from your lips before you can stop yourself. “She belongs to Lord James.”

Peter swallows a chuckle, tinted nervous. “Yep. That’s Sable. Beautiful girl.” He pauses, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Lord James’ loves her. He comes to visit her often. He’s quite particular with her.” 

A silence stretches between you both, the pair of you watching the gorgeous glisten of the black beauty’s coat. “Well, I’ve got to get back to it. If I don’s hurry, the cook’s gonna have my head! Plus, I still have to clear the stalls…” He’s turned and is walking away when you fly forward, grabbing his arm and turning him to face you.

“Please, Peter, I can do the stalls,” you stutter out, noticing the embarrassed flush that spreads across his cheeks at your sudden movements. “But, please, before you go. You were going to say something about the Lord. Please, I wish to hear it.” 

The flush spreads across to his ears, and he ducks his head sheepishly; emotions battling across his face. A deep breath, a twisted lip. 

“Look,” he begins, voice a whisper on the wind. “I’ve been here for years. Since I was a young kid. And we’ve always had at least four groundsmen to assist around the place. And when he said we were getting a new servant, I figured we’d shift some things to replace Clint, the groundskeeper that just left.”

Your face shifted, puzzled. He noticed your expression – breathed in, out. 

“What I’m saying is, I’ve been here since I was a kid; Lord James has never had a handmaid before.” 

And with that, with words that make your heart pound and stomach fall, he walks away.

\---

It took you around an hour to properly muck the stalls in the stable, and when you returned to the house you could feel the grime on your skin. You wondered if you could quickly slip into your quarters to get changed, wash this dress out to be worn again later. You shrugged, figuring that you had effectively completed your cleaning duties this morning by scrubbing every inch of the Lord’s chamber’s this morning.

You step into your quarters; what you don’t expect is to see the head of the household leaning against the desk. It makes you jump, hands rising to your chest. 

“My Lord!” The words tumble from your lips, and you struggle into a curtsy. 

His eyes graze over your form, noting the dress stained with muck and clay and straw. A frown deepens on his glorious brow, and you can feel your heart pounding – in admiration or fear, you were unsure. 

“I’ve been awaiting you,” he mumbles out, hands clenching the edge of the desk. “What is the meaning of this mess?”

You lower your eyes, attempting to etch apology across your visage. “My Lord, I apologise. Peter was showing me the stables, as you asked, and I decided to muck the stalls to lessen his work load.”

“I asked that of Peter.”

“I know, my Lord,” you try and rearrange your thoughts, aware of the way his presence just bothers you. Sets something in you on fire in a way that you can’t quite grasp. “May I ask a question of you?”

At this, the Lord comes to his full height, pushing off from the desk. He approaches you, stands so close that you could reach out and touch him. You take this as affirmation, and you decide to continue.

“Why have you delegated the mucking of the stalls to Peter?” You don’t allow yourself to pause, convinced that if you stop the words will die on your tongue. He seems to have that effect on you. “Surely, if the horses are my responsibility, I can tend to that too? I can assure you, I am clean, and I will complete the job with care.” 

There’s a silence; you don’t lift your eyes from the floor, until he steps forward; he’s so close, so intoxicating, that you almost miss him grabbing at the fabric of your dress. 

You glance down, stunned. He lifts the fabric slightly, showing you a stain of brown that coats the white material. You gulp, aware of how vulnerable you are beneath him. 

When he speaks, it’s so low that you can feel it slice through your body, leaving you cold and breathless. “You are my handmaid. Do you truly believe that it is appropriate for you to be walking around like this?” He tugs forcefully at the fabric, a reminder of his anger. “You follow my instructions. You know this.” 

Emotions are curious things – sometimes, they rise from a crevice deep inside; one that is impossible to identify. 

Suddenly, you’re ripping the fabric from his hands, anger bubbling through your body like a tidal wave. The action forces him to step backwards, allowing you to rise; powerful, daunting, in the small room. 

“How dare you touch me like that,” the words snake across the room, venomous and harsh. “I am not your property. You cannot treat me as such.” 

You fall silent, aware of your words. This, your speech so far, is enough to have you fired. You don’t wish to be arrested for conspiracy to harm as well. 

His eyes are wide, contemplative. Watches the way your chest rises and falls in anger, the way you battle between your anger and your good judgement. He’s taken by it, briefly, that inherent war that seems to rage inside of you. 

He considers you, steps closer. Watches your hackles raise; a cornered fox ready to strike. It’s truly entrancing, how much is hidden behind that mask you wear. While he is entertained by it, it isn’t particularly appropriate; if any other servants heard of this outburst, it could tumble his control over his entire household.

“You’re not my property?” He asks, a lilt in his voice. “You are a reflection of me; you represent me to every outsider you cross. They know which house you belong to, and as such, which Lord.” He watches you calculate his words, but before you can come to answer he pushes on. “Perhaps my actions were… improper. I did not mean to scare you. I will not harm you. 

“However, the attitude which you displayed was unacceptable. I have never been berated by a servant, and I refuse for this to repeat itself. I’m sure you understand that there needs to be appropriate punishment.”

You gulp, nod. Beg your heart to settle. “I apologise, my Lord.” 

He hums his approval; leans closer. You feel his breath against your forehead as he towers over you. “I’m sure you do. Perhaps, just this once, I shall let it slide. I was inappropriate of me to touch you.” A deep exhale. “But I have something on the horizon, an event I need assistance with. I hear that you believe your duties are perhaps unfulfilling and easy – I assure you, it will not last. 

“You will be working closely with me. Now, get dressed. I will be awaiting you in the library.” 

He turns, and then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh i swear i know where im going with this. 
> 
> thank you for the comments!~ lemme know what you think!


	6. let your words seep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation, a promise.

You’re sitting across from the Lord, eyes focused on your hands. It’s hard to be in his presence without absorbing him; melting into his powerful aura until there is no separation between you and him. It takes every fibre of your being to pull yourself inward, away from his gaze and what lays behind it. 

The library feels much smaller now, crowded. The walls of books feel more like a prison than an escape, and it sets your heart on edge. 

Lord James taps his fingertips along the solid wood between you, allowing the sound to fill the chasm between you both. He clears his throat, softly. Utters your name. Your heart clenches. 

“You lost your mother recently, correct?” You nod your heard passively. “Am I correct in assuming that there is no other family awaiting your contact?” 

“No, my Lord. I am as much a relation to you as I am to the rest of the world.”

You catch his eye, watching as he leans back in his chair nonchalantly. This news seems to settle him, slightly, but there is still discomfort flickering in the air. Tangible.

“I hate to be… hasty. Truly, if I had any other way around this, I would take it. There are a lot of secrets buried in these walls, and I need to know if I can trust you with them. If I can trust you with me.” The word falls, heavy. A promise, a question – neither of which you can decipher. 

His hand grips the edge of the table, leaning forward. “This is me giving you a chance. An opportunity to walk away right now. I’ll release you of your duties, send you on your way, no qualms about it.” You feel him survey you, taking in every flicker of emotion as it flashes across your face. “I do not want this, but I do understand it. You would not be the only staff member that had taken me up on this.”

A deep breath shared between two. 

“The truth is… this house is dangerous. We are dangerous. I am dangerous.” Your heart pounds. “But I am making you a promise. If you stay, nothing will befall you. And if I make a promise, not even the demons of hell could break it.” 

He’s fixed you with the most intense stare, blue eyes boring directly into your soul. You feel a connection; this intense, heart-wrenching bond that strikes you with excitement and fear and something primal. It’s something deeper than words can describe, a tangible representation of the tension that has aligned with his presence since the day you met him. You know, then, that there is no leaving him – no way you could be separated from this chance at something more – this intoxication so unfamiliar to your previous, dulled past life. 

But, despite the way your heart pounds, you can feel the doubt start to settle in. You lean forward, trying to show your interest to him in the least confrontational way. “My Lord… what danger is it that you are describing?”

His breath hitches, as if he is just as affected by you as you are of him. His voice drops an octave, and the timbre sends chills down your spine, deliciously. “I promise you, my darling,” you shiver. “If you say yes, I will tell you everything.” 

You rest your hand over your heart, feel the pound pound pound that reminds you you’re alive. Closing your eyes on the inhale, opening them with the exhale. 

“Okay, my Lord.” You breathe out. “It’s a yes.” 

There’s a silence after your words; the two of you are enamoured, eyes caught in each other. The only sound is your breath, shallow and excited. Time seems to pause, a moment caught in time. 

Then he’s clearing his throat, standing, approaching one of the bookshelves behind him. The tension in the room is gone, replaced with an apprehension that feels like electricity. 

He’s running his hands over the books, searching, finally coming to stop at a tome gleaming in emerald and gold. He slides it out, tenderly. “You can read, correct?” He asks, humming at your acknowledgement. He places the book before you, allows you to trail your fingers lightly down the cover. You’ve never seen a book like this – it is expensive and delicate and you’re almost afraid. 

“This book is your work for today. Read through it, thoroughly. Tell me what you think,” he watches you, a thought sitting just behind his eyes. As if he wants to say more. As if he’s afraid. 

Your eyes slip to the title. Biology and Non-Humans: An Exploration. You raise your head, eyebrow raised curiously. “Non-humans?” You repeat, letting the word roll from your tongue: testing it. 

Lord James rounds the table, kneeling before you. He’s so close, you could reach out and brush the strands of hair from his face; ease the wrinkle of concern that has settled onto his brow. So close that you want to lean in and touch him – finally allow yourself to fall. 

He whispers your name, a prayer. “There is something you are unaware of. Something that this book will reveal to you.” His breath hitches, and he lifts his hand to brush your cheek. The contact startles you both, and a breathy laugh leaves him. “You’ll have questions, many of them, I’m sure. But first, I need you to read through this book. Take your time – you’ll have no distractions until you’re done.

“And once you’re finished, and you have your questions, I can answer them. Or, if you feel more comfortable, I can request Lady Natalia to assist you.” 

The words are uttered so softly that you could, if you allowed your heart to wander, mistaken them for loving. He is afraid, that much you are aware of. You feel yourself nod, watching as he stands and leaves. 

You take a deep breath, turning to face the tome in front of you. You take a deep breath, trembling hands, and slide the cover open. 

\---

Your head is spinning. The words seem to pile in, waves crashing over and over. So many phrases and terms and theories. 

Unable to go out in sunlight. Reduced need for sleep. Skin is cold to the touch. Aversion to some metals. Incredible power and speed

Powerful, intoxicating aura. 

Need blood supply for nutrition.

You fly from the desk, rushing to the Lord’s bedroom. The door slams open, hinges creaking. Lord James stands suddenly from his seat, watching as your chest rises and falls, panicked. 

Your near him now, suddenly. Standing an arms-length away, staring up into his eyes. There’s a fire behind your own, and James can feel that he’s about to get burnt. 

“My Lord,” you say, breathlessly. “I need you to tell me what I just read. What it means.”

“I think you know-”

“I need you to say it.” 

He takes a deep breath, takes a step forward. Fights the urge to put his hand on your hip, to steady you. 

He whispers your name. “My darling… I am a vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey lovelies!! Little bit of a gap between chapters - sorry!! Truth be told, I felt like i wrote myself into a corner last chapter, and i was actually tempted to give up and delete the fic (oops!! done that before!!) but i decided - even if its not my perfect, golden story, this is actually a way of getting myself back into writing anyway. So i wrote through my block! I also think ive cleared up where im taking this. 
> 
> Thoughts and comments are appreciated!! Love to you all, stay safe etc xx


	7. are we broken? whole? healed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dialogue and dialogue and dialogue - lots of info, lots of love

There’s silence between you; a gap that feels impossible to overcome. The only sound is the painful thump of your heart against your ribcage, heavy and loud and hurried. You can’t help it; the way time seems to stop, and words catch against your throat. To hear those words, the utter of those syllables, it just sends you reeling. 

Lord James eyes you, carefully. There’s almost a pain behind his eyes as he watches the way your expression morphs and constricts. He doesn’t enjoy the fear – fights the urge to wrap himself around you, burrow into your scent until there is no separation between you both. Melt into a single entity. 

But he knows you are afraid right now; if he leans forward to touch you, you may strike like a cornered fox. So instead, he watches, wishing he could run his hand through your hair. Aching. 

You’re afraid – afraid of the uncertainty, the words that will drop from your lips. And yet, you let them. 

“There’s nothing about you that seems…” A breath. “Supernatural. How can you have hidden it so well from me? From the world?”

“You haven’t been here long,” the Lord reminds you, soft and without cajole. “You haven’t been through a feeding week. Therefore, my strength and… willpower are strong enough to keep most of your suspicions at bay. 

“I can’t leave the mansion during sunlight, and I don’t need to sleep like a human would. Have you never noticed that my bed never needs remaking?”

You pause at that – you had only been in the mansion for a few days, but that fact had still alluded you. While the covers were never disturbed, they still needed to be straightened every day, possibly from the Lord lying a top them. You shake your head, incredulously. 

“As for my staff,” he continues. “They are mostly unaware, aside from young Peter. He helps keep up the ruse. I do believe that most of them know, somewhat, that things are off with me. But I pay well enough to keep lips sealed, and a master who does not abuse his workers is a rare and perhaps convincing gift.” 

He steps forward now, aware of the slight reaction of your body. You do not fly backwards from him; this, he decides, is a good sign.

“Lady Natalia is a vampire too, of course.” He says, reaching up to stroke along your chin. You lean slightly into his touch; unnoticeable if it weren’t for his heightened senses. “I could tell you were unbelievably taken by her, a natural part of our gift. I will admit, however, it made me quite… jealous.” 

The soft brush of his hand against your cheek lulled you, and you reached up to place your hand over his. He looked surprised at your reaction but waited for your words. 

“If none of the other servants know,” you begin, allowing the words to track a map through your mind. “And you don’t know me well enough to know if you can trust me, why have you told me? Surely, you could have left me unaware, as you have your more loyal servants.”

You don’t anticipate the smile that crosses his features, allowing you the flash of white teeth. You notice, briefly, the pointedness of his incisor, and you feel your heart flush. 

“That question is complicated; multi-faceted. I don’t know if you are ready for the answer today, my darling.” 

There it is again – the pet name that you had barely registered the first time. You can’t help your stomach dropping, enamoured by the way the word falls from his lips like a prayer, a promise. You lean into it, into the hand against your cheek. Lean into him. You feel ridiculous – light and airy and infatuated by this man that you’ve known so little, but with an eternal connection that aches. 

But the words crash into you, a wave that leaves you cold and sober. Intoxicating aura. 

This man, this thing, was using his powers against you. And you were lamb to the slaughter for it. 

You rip yourself from his grasp, all but flying backwards. The momentum flings you backwards, and you land with a thump to the floor, dragging yourself backwards with your hands. The change shocks both of you, and the man before you poised to pull you back to him. 

“Don’t,” you growl, impressed and shocked by the ferocity of your words. The words are hissed, and you aren’t sure where the anger rises from within you. “You’re toying with me. You’re using that – that power, against me. Stop it.” 

Emotions flicker, distinctly, across Lord James’ face. Shock, anger, confusion. Realisation. Determination. 

Suddenly, he’s above you, body caging you to the ground. Your hands fall from beneath you, and you’re lying flat on your back, staring up into those innocuous, glimmering eyes. Your heart pounds, and the proximity is breathtaking. His hands frame your face, legs straddling you. There is no escape, but the way you feel when you’re close to him dulls any fear, heightens your excitement. 

He leans close, lips brushing against your ear. You feel him inhale, and your heart skips a beat entirely. 

“You feel it too?” His voice is almost jubilant; a mix of excitement and fear and want. “You’re drawn to me the way I’m drawn to you?” 

“Well – of course,” you say, gulping. “It’s like you said. A natural part of your gift.”

“Would you accuse Lady Natalia of playing with you?” The question is tinged with an emotion unknown. “Do you believe she is toying with your emotions? Would you fly from her, just as you did me?” 

“Of course not!” You hiss, struggling under him. “Because she is not being so liberal with her ability. You, on the other hand –“

“It is not my fault you feel so… powerless around me,” the words cut you off. “We can’t change the amount of energy we exude; it’s constant.” 

“The only way it can have an effect is if the person is biologically determined to be affected by it. It was in the book that I gave to you, did you not see?” 

Your mind is spinning, trying to understand the words. But he’s so close and so intoxicating you feel yourself slipping. 

“Peter doesn’t feel like this around me,” he continues, mouthing lightly at the shell of your ear. “If I brought him in right now, he would be completely unaffected by me. But you – I thought it was just me that was incredibly, deliciously drawn to you; but you are drawn right back to me too.” 

He leans back now, eyes finding yours. That connection: that terrible, tangible bond that you share, alights again. Your heart pounds. “What does this mean?”

“A lot of things,” he mumbles; repeats it. Lets the words sit between you. He leans back, moves to stand, and holds his hand out for you to take. “It means a lot of big decisions, and perhaps some massive changes. It means that this event I was planning is kind of… well, the nature of it is definitely changing.”

You reach up, shiver as your hand slips perfectly into his own. You stand. “This event,” you begin, flattening your dress with your hands. “What is it? What is my role in it?”

He smiles, no teeth and corners upturned. Almost smug but without arrogance. “That question has changed immensely with this news. I need to speak to some people, speak with you. Make some huge decisions. It’s… complicated. I hope I can count on your patience.”

You curtsy lightly, heart hammering with all this information. Your head is still spinning from the rush of adrenaline and emotions that cloud your body. “Of course, my Lord. Whatever you need from me.” 

“Right now?” He asks, accepting your slight nod. “I need you to rest. Take my bed; I need you to stay in my chambers for now. I know this is all… confusing, exhausting, even. But I need you to trust me.” There’s a question behind his words. 

“I do, my Lord.” You answer. “Explicitly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies!!
> 
> Okay. Yeah. I... yep. This is not my best work. But work is work!! also feeling v sappy lately and i think its coming through my work a little. Let me know what you think! Comments literally keep me alive.
> 
> Love to all!!


	8. fodder for the birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia gives some much needed information to our lovely reader

You awaken with a start, eyes thrown open to the unknown environment around you. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust; the blues and purples of the stained glass illuminates your form. Lord James’ quarters, you recall, moving to sit. 

“The little lovebug is awake.” 

You jump, head twisting to the voice. Beside you, posed so elegantly on the bed, sits Lady Natalia, eyes caught in a mirth that you can’t identify. You let out a slight laugh, happy to see the familiar face; a sense of normality in the craziness that you had experienced lately. 

“Lady Natalia,” you greet, standing to award her a curtesy. “I apologise – I had no idea you were here. My laziness is an embarrassment.” 

She waves her hand; even this movement, uncaring and offhand, announces her elegance, her grace. She holds herself so properly that even this, this casualness, is punctuated with necessity. The glint of deep maroon polish adorns her trimmed fingernails, elongating her fingers. You think, absently, about how she could wrap those hands around your throat. Dig those claws in until you gasped, grasping for life and breath and dignity. 

Perhaps you were a little afraid of her. Drawn in but terrified. A dangerous precipice to balance upon.

“Please, I would have woken you if I needed you. Lord James’ informed me of the… dilemma. I thought you may wish for an ear to divulge to.” She pats the bed next to her, the place you had just risen from. Tentatively, you sit, one foot planted firmly to the floor. She seems pleased with your movement as you turn more firmly toward her. 

“Dilemma…” The word falls from your lips, foreign and hollow: an echo in a dark room. “I don’t… Lord James wasn’t particularly forthcoming. He tends to tell me very little.” 

Lady Natalia lets out a breathy laugh, agreeable and light. “He plays his cards close. Never learnt how to play nice,” her fingers are on your arm, nails scraping lightly down your skin. Goosebumps alight beneath her fingertips. “He’s moving quickly with you, Pet. I can definitely see why…” 

You blush, eyes dropping to the bed. The cover is deep red and golds, lined with strips of emerald.   
The stitchwork is a marvel; so intricate that it takes great focus to see individual threads. Befitting for a man like James; ironic for a creature who did not need to sleep. 

Lady Natalia shifts, her hand coming to rest over yours. “Do you know who your Lord is?” 

The question is tinted with a sincerity that bleeds, and you decide that simply answering with his name will not suffice. You shake your head, turning to look the elegant woman in the eye. 

She breathes in, blinking languidly. Pauses. “You obviously… You’re aware of what Lord James and I are, of course. But not of who.” Her eyes shift from yours. “Once every few years, there is a gathering of people like us. A ball of sorts. It’s confusing, and I’m not sure if you want me to explain in detail, but –“ 

“Please!” 

The word drops from your mouth before you even register it; to have the option to learn, to be let into this world that was dragging you along, was an opportunity you couldn’t pass over. Natalia seems amused by your outburst. 

She shakes her head, smiling. “Our folk have a feeding week – we can eat food just as you can, but we need human blood in our system. Without it, we become violent and aggressive; feral. Vampires that have tried to stop from hurting humans by not feeding have flown into violent, disgusting rages and torn people limb from limb.”

You feel the colour drain from your face. You had heard stories like that growing up, but you had chalked it up to a fairy tale. How strange; to have your entire life turned upside down in just a matter of days. 

“We aren’t inherently violent, pet,” the words are comforting, an unfamiliar outfit for Natalia. “At least – we can choose not to be.

“Vampires share a connection: cross the globe, there is a tugging connection that we feel to each other. Like a giant wolf pack, but biologically rather than socially. I can tell when another vampire is near, based solely on this connection. We tend to live in clusters, as it reduces the strain of this tug. James and I live together for this very reason. 

“However,” she breaths in, eyes glazing over slightly. “This bond holds a lot of power. To break it – to kill another vampire – brings with it both incredible, soul-crushing sadness, and unknown power.”

Your head is spinning, trying to absorb the words. It feels impossible, insurmountable. Lady Natalia watches you, careful and calculating. 

“Look,” she pauses, voice chipped with caution. “Bucky – Lord James – will probably fill in the rest. I’ll just fill in the immediate blanks – once every few years, vampires gather somewhere to… challenge each other. The resulting victor is crowned as royalty – their decisions are final and absolute. If a vampire steps out of line, kills another vampire, reveals himself to a human without discretion, they must answer to the King.” She pauses, a thought on her brow. “In a few weeks, we will partake in this Reckoning again.”

“I just…” Your say weakly. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me, I suppose.” 

Lady Natalia’s mouth upturns, a sultry smile alighting her features. “I don’t believe your master would enjoy it if I stole that surprise from him. I believe he will delegate that information.” 

Your heart drops: having your own, personal informant has been a God send, and to see her close away this information is like trying to hold onto a stream. Futile and frustrating. 

She stands, then, dress billowing with her movement. You scramble up afterwards, trailing as she makes toward the exit. There’s only one question left on your lips, and you’re ready to give away your life to hear the answer. 

“Lady Natalia! Please!” The desperation is tangible; it’s enough to pause the woman in her tracks. “Please, I need to know… Who is the current ruler of – of your people?”

You watch the woman shift, head turning slightly. You see her side profile, the curve of her nose and the plump of her lips as they open. “Oh, the King?” She asks, words dropping with mirth. “His name is Steven. He’ll be home soon. I know he’s eager to meet you.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving only a heartbeat in her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No bucky this (short) chapter, but a (hopefully??) nice little cliffhanger at the end. 
> 
> Get ready boys. Shit is ( eventually - like 3 chapters away?) about to get real.
> 
> Comments make me cry and definitely encourage me to write, just so you knowwwwww :*


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